


The End Of The World (As I Know It)

by FloralPunk15



Category: South Park
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloralPunk15/pseuds/FloralPunk15
Summary: Everything that can fall apart does. Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Eric have a few options. Take the pieces and fix the status quo, make something new, or run.
Relationships: Eric Cartman / Stan Marsh (mentioned and implied), Kyle Broflovski & Eric Cartman & Kenny McCormick & Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski/ Stan Marsh (mention and one sided for now)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. The End's Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the pieces falling apart.   
> Playlist for the overarching plot of this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Ra4YmjwbCRfio8wkJOP6z?si=5e4185807fa440cc

Mornings were generally bad for Stan. Saturday, it appeared, wasn’t going to be different, despite what he may have hoped. 

His day started with muffled yelling, and his mother slamming her mug of coffee down in frustration. He felt for her, honestly. Randy Marsh was the exact opposite of a rational, sane adult. If anything, he was more of a child than the children he fathered. So no wonder it was 8 A.M, and his mom was already fed up with his shit. 

“No, Randy! We are _not_ shipping Stan to Jimbo! He’s fine here, dammit!” His mom yelled. “This is the last god damned time I’m saying it! Your mom’s whole family is batshit and our son doesn’t need to be like that!” Stan had never in his life heard her voice that sharp. His mom was itching for blood this morning, it seemed.

Sighing tiredly, Stan threw on the first clean pair of jeans from his drawer. He fumbled in his closet for a clean shirt and tossed his old one onto the floor. He made a mental note to do laundry later, seeing his basket was overflowing.

“If you think my family’s batshit, why’d you marry into it, Sharon?” his dad demanded. “Since we’re clearly too good for you, why don’t I just fucking leave?”

The question made Stan pause on the stairwell. His parents always had little bouts like this, but this sounded worse than usual. He winced as he heard papers fly across the kitchen. 

Suddenly feeling nauseous, Stan booked it down the stairs, jammed his feet into his worn converse, then slid out the door with no word to the warring adults. 

The biting winter air sent Stan diving into his truck. He slid his familiar Carhart jacket on and let out a lofty, stressed sigh. Then, with shaky hands, he turned the shitbox on and smoothly backed out of the driveway in a maneuver that would make all of his uncles beam with pride. 

He stopped by the gas station, grabbing a crumpled twenty from the cup holder. Fifteen of it went to the shitbox and the other five towards a bag of donuts and four coffees; One black and inky, one almost the color of milk with a dash of coffee coloring, one also black with three sugars, and his own with three Irish Creme creamer singles. 

**_Me:_ ** _who’s awake? I have breakfast for whoever’s up for a chat at the station._

 **_Super Best Bitch:_ ** _I swear to God if you put creamer in my coffee, I’ll kill you._

 **_McDonald’s Whore:_ ** _Donuts?_

 **_Fatass with a fat ass:_ ** _Donuts._

 **_Me:_ ** _So??_

 **_Super Best Bitch:_ ** _Yeah, I’m on my way out now._

 **_Fatass with a fat ass:_ ** _yeah but I don’t care about you- I want donuts._

 **_McDonald’s Whore:_ ** _Bold of you to assume I’m not already there._

Stan put his phone down and headed towards SoDoSoPa. He paused for a pedestrian, a little surprised by the passenger door opening and the crinkling of the donut bag moving. A glance to his right revealed an orange bomber parka and a bright green glove holding the paper bag. Satisfied it wasn’t a random stranger, Stan took off again. 

His passenger was silent, watching their sleepy town slowly come alive. Shops opened, and people started bustling up and down the sidewalks, leaving prints in the freshly fallen snow. Stan would have been upset about it- about ten years ago. At 17, snow was less than impressive. Living in the Colorado mountains ruined the magic ages ago. Or maybe his cynic outlook on life did? 

Before Stan could answer his question, they’d arrived at the train station. The building was dilapidated, having fallen out of use when Stan was about ten. Bricks were falling out of their spots on the wall. The old door had long since shattered, leaving a rusty, twisted frame as a reminder. 

Just beyond that was a small figure, huddled around a barrel fire for warmth. The figure rose to his full height, lifting a mittened hand in a wave. The top of his dingy orange parka obscured a friendly smile, but Stan knew well enough to know there was a smile under the fabric. He gratefully took the proffered cup of coffee and the straw offered with it. 

“Good morning, ” Kyle greeted the two, sipping his coffee. Stan cringed, knowing full well it was black. No sugar, no cream. Kyle was a lowkey masochist like that. 

Kenny repeated the greeting, poking the bendy straw into his coffee and tucking the opposite end under the parka. Stan marveled at the fluidity of the movements, and just _how the hell Kenny managed to drink coffee like that._ The hooded boy caught his eye and winked. 

“You fuckers.” A voice grumbled. Cartman appeared from behind Kyle, walking over and taking his coffee from Stan. He gave it a curious sniff, then took a hearty sip. “You never fail to impress, Marsh,” he praised, huddling into the styrofoam cup. 

Kenny giggled, the sound muffled by the fabric of his parka. “Mh mhh mrph?” he asked. Stan took a second to process the other teen’s words. Usually, he was a pro at it, but he wasn’t typically trying to guess at 8 in the morning.

Stan cleared his throat. “Right,” He began, pausing as Cartman shot him a guilty smile and shoved a donut into his mouth. Stan smiled, then recollected his thoughts. “So, I’m pretty sure my parents are really getting divorced.” Voicing his suspicion made something in his chest tighten.

Kyle put a comforting palm on Stan’s shoulder blade. Somehow, the redhead knew that Stan’s chest had tightened, and that was precisely the thing to loosen it back up. He wondered if Kyle was psychic yet again. “Maybe it’s for the best,” The redhead replied reassuringly. “I mean, face it. It’s normal for people to fight, but not at the frequency and severity your parents do, Stan.” 

The tightness returned. “No, Kyle, they promised they’d stay together for us!” Stan argued. He cursed how much he sounded like Cartman being told no as a kid. “They can’t do that!”

Without asking, Kenny tugged Stan into a hug. Stan was taken aback by how good the teen smelled. There was a faint stale tobacco smell, but Kenny also smelled like he waltzed through a field of wildflowers and stuck some inside his coat. 

(That was a legitimate possibility, though. Stan had seen Kenny produce several small, yet wildly unexpected items from inside his coat. _How in the fuck did he get a_ **_flute_ ** _in his coat?)_

The younger’s heart beat steadily, soothing Stan’s fraying nerves. He hadn’t realized how worked up he’d gotten over all of this. “Go on,” Kenny encouraged. Stan shivered as Kenny’s warm breath hit the shell of his ear. 

“My parents aren’t the type to give up on one another.” Stan defended weakly. The more he tried to argue his case, the more the arguments sounded like things a stubborn child said. 

Kyle sighed softly. “Your mom’s at her wit’s end with your dad.” He replied, patient and slow. Like he was talking to a kid. “They just aren’t working anymore, Stan. You and Shelly can’t fix that for them,”

Stan bit back his angry retort, taking a deep breath. “This can’t be fucking happening.” He mumbled weakly, pushing Kenny away. “There’s no way,” 

The trio watched with varying expressions. Kyle looked fed up and concerned. Cartman obviously took delight in.. whatever the fuck was going on. No surprise, Cartman thrived in chaos and misery of any kind. Kenny looked equal parts nervous, hurt, and concerned. All three stepped closer as Stan stepped back.

The wall hit his back and Stan slid down, curling in on himself. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. He was choking, suffocating and he was powerless to stop anything. Things were spiraling he was so dizzy and his chest burned and everything ached. Too much. Too much too much toomuch. 

A pair of warm palms on his cheeks pushed away some of the sandbags cracking his ribs open. Thumbs swiped under his eyes and he opened them, unaware he’d screwed them shut in his panic. A pair of concerned hazel eyes met his. Mostly vivid green, with light, muddier brown tones marbling through. Kyle.

Reflexively, Stan grasped Kyle’s wrists, holding on like he’d lose himself to the wave of darkness in his mind if he didn’t. He let the younger boy pull him into his chest. The force of Kyle’s tight embrace forced the shattering pieces back together, drawing Stan away from the deep end. Moments passed, then Stan eased his grip on Kyle. In turn, the ginger stopped trying to crush him, moving to rub soothingly between Stan’s shoulder blades. 

“You back, Marsh?” Kyle asked jokingly, moving back to assess. 

Stan sighed and nodded. “Sorry. I have no idea why that happened.” he confessed.

Kyle nodded. “You’ve been holding a lot in. And this scares the hell out of you.” He explained, the way one explained how rain made their favorite sneakers wet. “It’s okay. We’re here, Stan. A panic attack won’t shake us off.”

Stan rose to his feet, helping Kyle up. “Not what freaked me out.” he commented dismissively. “I know that, Ky. You guys are here to the bitter end.” 

The group laughed at Stan’s comment. ‘The Bitter End’ didn’t even _begin_ to describe the many misadventures the quartet survived. At this point in their friendship, they could probably see one another naked as the day they were born and be cool with it, among other things. 


	2. The Start of Something Terrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~CONTENT WARNINGS: IMPLIED PROSTUTUION, CASUAL MENTION OF DRUGS, IMPLIED R*PE~  
> While this chapter is important to the overall arch, the most severe part can skipped. It will be alluded to in later chapters, but the specifics won't be terribly important. The highly triggering part begins after the asterisks. PLEASE BE CAREFUL READING!

Ah Sundays. Typically reserved for laying in bed until noon and becoming one with the comfy furniture of one’s choice until 10 pm when the panic of avoided responsibilities set in. Emphasis on  _ typically _ . 

Sundays were different in the McCormick homestead. If the kids were lucky, the parents were too hungover or otherwise strewn out to be functional for a few hours. Kevin would spend the day trying to keep up with numerous, neverending household repairs. Kenny would take the money he saved up from various sources and go acquire things for Kevin to use, and Karen would try her best to clean up a week’s worth of drug addict’s messes. The three would pause for a late lunch of whatever was on clearance at the dollar store, then continue until their parents became functional. 

If the parents were awake, all three kids made it their goal to stay the hell out of dodge. Kenny wasn’t sure where Kevin got off to, but he knew Karen spent time at the Tucker Residence with Tricia. Kenny would then go find his friends or pursue a method of making extra money. 

This particular Sunday morning found Kenny in a secluded alleyway, parka falling off his shoulders as a woman left a particularly sharp nip on his collarbone. He almost spoke up to remind her that was against the rules, but she beat him to it. “Sorry, sugar, I know hickies aren’t allowed, but I’m your best client,”

Kenny nodded. “Rules are still rules. Marks ruin it for other people.” He explained, then bit his lip as the woman nibbled his earlobe. 

“Rules,” she cooed, “Are meant to be broken, sugar,” 

Kenny gently pushed her back. “Not without prior discussion.” He replied. He was known for laxing some of his rules in certain circumstances, but this wasn’t a rule he ever caved on.

She nodded, tucking some of her dark hair behind her ear. “Fine, fine,” she tutted. “Then why don’t you do what you do best?” She suggested, leaning back against the other wall of the alley.

He obliged her request. After all, she was paying him to do what her husband had no interest in anymore. A lot of his clientele were like her. He’d be damned if someone asked for her name though. All the people who came to him for this blended into one. He’d most likely get her name wrong in the moment, so he paid no mind when the wrong name fell from her lips. 

45 minutes and $375 richer, Kenny left the alley and headed to the old train station. He never kept his money in one spot, and  _ wouldn’t dream _ of leaving it in his home. His parents would buy drugs with it, and that wasn’t what he worked his ass off for it for. He stashed the cash in various well hidden spots, then headed back towards town. 

If Cartman noticed him slip in the window, he didn’t act surprised. “Pimp let you go early?” he asked, not even pausing his show. 

“Funny,” Kenny commented dryly, catching the clothes chucked at him. 

“Please shower, you smell like a dumpster orgy.”

Kenny didn't grace him with a reply, exiting the room to use their shower. The shitty comments were just a part of the arrangement. He was surprised Cartman cared enough to let him use their shower, or to keep a few changes of clothes handy for him. He was even more touched by the sight of a third toothbrush in the bathroom. Bright orange and brand new. ‘This one stays here so you don’t have to fret.’ Cartman wrote on a post it wrapped around the handle. 

People often (correctly) assumed Cartman was an asshole, but most people only ever really got to see Cartman in public places where he felt the need to be the top dog. They never got to see the side of Eric that left his best friend a toothbrush in his bathroom, shopped at goodwill to buy him a few changes of decent clothes, and made sure to keep a bottle of mint and rosemary shampoo under the sink for him. (Even Stan and Kyle didn’t get to see this side of Eric. He had no reason to be like that towards the Super Best Friends.) They didn’t see the concern in the actions either. Kenny did. He knew Cartman hated how Kenny spent his time, but never complained. Instead, he made sure Kenny at least remembered to treat himself like a person after his ‘adventures’. And made sure to feed him. (“Goddamit Ken, a kinky bastard like you should know about the importance of aftercare,” he griped after Kenny finally came clean.) 

Kenny changed into the clothed Cartman offered, then took his dirty clothes to the Cartman’s washer and dryer. He began a load and folded the load that Eric left in the dryer.

“Did you really fold my damned laundry?” Cartman complained, watching Kenny put the folded clothes into the dresser. “Oh, and now you’re putting it away. I’m not sucking you off, poorboy. You probably have STIs,” 

Kenny snorted. “I didn’t ask. Plenty of cute girls want to. Also, I’m clean and we both know it.” He knew Eric knew, because Eric’s mom took him to the clinic to get tested every few months. “I’m just doing it because you won’t,” Which wasn’t a lie, but wasn't Kenny’s true motivation either. Laundry was the very least he could do to thank Eric for his help. 

“Heh, you’re right,” Cartman laughed. “Wanna swing by Dairy Queen and see if Jewboy will give us a discount?” 

Kenny knew he wouldn’t. Kyle didn’t break rules like that. Besides, it was Sunday. Kenny knew Stan and Butters were working, not Kyle. Kenny let Eric remain ignorant to that fact though. Said nothing as he followed the older boy to Liane’s tan Focus. 

Cartman got some chocolaty concoction,and Kenny tried one of the new mint promotional shakes. One by one, Stan flipped them upside down. “There you go. Enjoy the blizzards,” he told the duo with a kind yet tired smile. “My shift’s over in an hour, then I have to go get Kyle. Maybe we could meet up and hang like old times?”

Cartman smiled coyly. “Maybe,” he answered, passing Kenny the bag with their food in it. They pulled away and Cartman rolled up his window. “I’d rather not kick it with the faglords,” He told Kenny honestly. “If you want to, feel free,” 

Something about Cartman’s tone settled oddly in Kenny’s chest. Was Eric  _ jealous _ ? What the fuck was there to even be jealous over? The fact that Stan would kick Eric’s ass in a riff off on  _ Guitar Hero _ ? Kenny tried not to dwell on it as he poked his straw in and out of his cup. He didn’t miss Eric’s glances over at him either. 

Their evening was super fun, but it couldn’t last forever. Kenny was due home to put Karen to sleep and other brotherly duties. Absolutely nothing prepared him for what was to come. 

**

The air in the living room was hazy with smoke. An unwanted inhale revealed the smoke to be burn off from meth. The sickly sweet chemical odor made Kenny’s stomach turn uncomfortably, but he shoved through. 

In her room, Karen was asleep, curled up with her thin blanket and one of Kevin’s hoodies. Kenny grabbed one of the comforters from the laundry and covered the small girl in it. He left her with a kiss on the forehead.

“Kenny! That you?” His father called. Kenny froze, hand still on the doorknob. “C’mere, boy. I need your help!”

Heart thudding, Kenny walked out to the kitchen. His dad sat in his usual chair at the head of the table. He looked calm and collected, and Kenny could almost see the young man that smiled at him in his grandmother’s aged albums. If the young man had pupils blown wide by a severe high. Kenny could barely see the dark blue of his irises even in the decent light.

The men that sat around the table were strangers. All of them dressed similarly to his father, same blown pupils. The pipe winked in the light, along with the rings on the hand that held it. He sat in Karen’s normal chair, grinning maliciously at Kenny.

“He’s awful pretty for a boy,” The man drawled in a deep timbre. Goosebumps erupted over his skin. Kenny got the sensation that this man was a shark about to swallow the minnow with no remorse. The others at the table agreed. 

”Say, Stuart, how old is he?” He asked, rising from the table. Kenny stood ramrod straight under his gaze. It cut through him, making Kenny feel disgustingly exposed. “If you tell me he’s over 18, I’ll call bullshit.”

His dad nodded to him. “I’m 16,” Kenny answered, practically cringing away from the hand on his jaw. Every nerve in his body screamed  _ Run! _ , but Kenny was glued to the spot in fear. “17 in March,” he elaborated at the man’s gesture. 

A look between the company and his father passed, then Stuart left the room. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. “You know, a pretty boy like yourself really shouldn’t be here,” The man holding his face cooed, breath hot and chemical sweet. “But your daddy owes us a lot,” a hand shoved him to his knees. “So you better get to work.”

Dread flooded through Kenny at the implied statement. Even not knowing what was at stake if he refused, he wouldn’t dream of doing so. He’d been in enough scuffles to know how this would end. He complied, but just enough to barely qualify. 

_ Nothing will ever be the same after tonight, _ Kenny realised as he banged on the Broflovski’s door.


	3. Shit, Meet Fan.

Eric groaned, fumbling for his phone on his bedside table. It was annoyingly  _ just _ beyond reach from his spot on the bed, so he shifted and grabbed it. Angry fingers jabbed tiredly at the screen, silencing the  _ god awful _ alarm. 

While he remembered how to be a person, Eric swiped through the group chat. Nothing incredibly interesting, just Kyle and Stan having some work-related conversation about a weirder than average customer. Kenny occasionally made comments about their safety, urging them to leave if things got spicy and dicey. 

**Marshmallow:** the fuckin husband was staring at my ass while I restocked. 

**Super Best Bitch:** Creepy and an ass man. That’s a catch. 

**McDonald’s Whore:** don’t drop the dasanis 

**Marshmallow:** goddamnit Kenny. You’re the actual fucking worst. 

**McDonald’s Whore:** my pleasure. Better dip before things get too spicy and dicey for you tho. itd suck if this dude murdered you in a dq

**Marshmallow:** …

**Super Best Bitch:** LMAO. STAN’S GONNA HAUNT THE DAIRY QUEEN

**McDonald’s Whore:** HI WELCOME TO DQ HERES YOUR ECTOCUM BLIZZARD

**Super Best Bitch:** ECTOCUM

**Super Best Bitch:** I AM DECEASED.

**Marshmallow changed Super Best Bitch’s name to Bitch**

**Bitch:** Ouch. That hurts.

Eric snickered, got up, and stretched. He shuffled over to his closet and pulled out a well-loved Lady Gaga tee, then changed into it. Eric smiled when he noticed how loosely the fabric hung off of him. Sure, the others still called him a fat ass and other unoriginal nicknames, but Cartman was the lightest he’d ever been in his life, all thanks to his mom’s newest catch of a boyfriend.

Paul was militant about everything, including how much and what exactly Liane and Eric ate. He stopped buying as much junk food and sweets and started forcing veggies and the like on Eric. He’d hated it initially, but began to see the appeal when he and Kyle played Horse and he wasn’t breathing any harder than the lithe Jew. (“Holy shit, Fatass! You almost had me!” Kyle had exclaimed, amazed. Eric let himself bask in the praise. It was so rare that he genuinely impressed the younger boy.) 

From there, counting the calories became as natural as breathing. Eric felt a sense of pride in getting 1,000 or less per day. And it paid off. He’d shed three pant sizes and his 4 XL shirts looked like nightgowns on him now. Just like this Lady Gaga one. 

Eric continued with his morning routine, then kissed his mom on the cheek on his way out the door. Kenny waited for him, perched on the hood of his lemon yellow Slug Bug like a small child. He was frowning at his cell phone like the device had called his sister a whore. (Eric did that once. Never again. As scrawny as the blonde looked, he had one hell of a left hook.)

“Ey, poorboy! Did your folks ever teach you that the seats are inside of the car?” Eric teased, almost feeling bad when Kenny flinched. He was dressed in the same clothes Eric had sent him home in. Looking closer, Eric noticed the streaks of violet under the younger’s intense blue eyes. 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, the door was locked.” Kenny replied absently, sliding off the hood gracefully. 

Eric watched the smaller boy carefully. Kenny seemed more withdrawn than usual today, trying to hide in layers of polyester and cotton. Kenny lacked his spark, staring listlessly out the front window. Eric didn’t need to follow his gaze to know Kenny wasn’t actually looking through the glass. He’d known Kenny long enough that he knew something shook him the hell up and it was  _ bad _ . 

“What happened last night?” Eric asked the blonde. 

“Nothing,” he replied, quiet and defensive. 

“Was Karen hurt?” Eric asked, because he genuinely cared about the brunette girl. 

Kenny glanced over. “She was dead asleep.” he confirmed. 

A beat of heavy silence filled the slug bug, thickening the air between the best friends. Finally, Eric spared Kenny a glance. 

“Were you hurt?” A question that nobody asked Kenny. Nobody really bothered to turn their concern to the quiet boy, because they all figured Kenny could handle himself. They weren’t wrong, but Kenny was still 16. A kid. And he still had feelings and worth too. 

Kenny swallowed hard, biting his lip. “Pull over,” he requested. Eric did as he asked. “It wasn’t a fight. A drug deal. Dad couldn’t pay-” his breath hitched and Kenny drew in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest. “So I did,” he whispered. 

Eric started seeing red. He ground his teeth, because the blond sitting across from him didn’t deserve the hateful words building in his throat. Besides, Kenny seemed to suddenly become more nervous. “I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed for you,” he assured the blond. 

“Please don’t take it out on Ky. And don’t tell Stan,” he whispered. 

“Don’t take what out on Kyle?” Eric asked, resuming the drive with white knuckles. 

Kenny seemed to shrink more. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble with Paul and Stan’s dealing with his own shit, so I told him,” 

Eric nodded, understanding the boy’s choice. If he were closer to Kyle, he’d come to the redhead for advice. Kyle unfortunately pretty much hated him for all the shit that went down when they were younger. 

He parked the bug next to Stan’s beat up Toyota, lovingly referred to as the scrap box by the ravenette. To his utter surprise, Kyle sat criss-cross on the hood while Stan lounged up against it, lit cigarette in hand. He drew in a hit, exhaling right as Eric turned to greet them. 

“Thanks, asshole.” Eric snapped, then watched as Kenny slid up beside Stan and plucked the cigarette out of his fingers and took a drag. 

Stan smirked, pulling Kenny into a side hug. “Oops.” he shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. “You good, Ken?” he asked the blond, suddenly more concerned. 

To his sheer surprise, Kyle leaned over Stan and took the cigarette, then hit it hard. “Are any of us?” he laughed humorlessly. The cynic nature was so unlike his normal personality that Eric did a physical doubletake. Sure, the redhead could be pessimistic, but it was never for no fucking reason. 

“I mean,” The redhead continued, handing Stan the cigarette back. “Your parents are splitting. Eric’s stepdad is making him anorexic. Kenny’s family,” he growled something too low for Eric to catch. “It’s fucked up and sick, even for South Park.” Kyle ruddled Kenny’s hair protectively. “And mine? Fucking hell. Every day’s a damned battle with mom anymore.” 

Eric turned to Kyle. "Since we’re all a little off-color today, why don’t we play hooky?” he suggested to the trio. 

Kyle shrugged. “At this point, fuck it. Let’s dip,” he told the others, sliding off the hood of the beat down Toyota and gracefully into the bug's backseat. 

Kenny followed his lead, climbing into the passenger seat and taking the aux cord. Rich dark blue met intense chocolate, then Stan slid into the car beside Kyle with an easy shrug. Eric climbed in and started the car, peeling out of the parking lot. 

Were they running from a problem? Absolutely. For once, they weren’t the cause and refused to take the blame. And honestly, Eric had never taken the blame a day in his life and wasn’t going to start today. Besides, everything would be okay. Right? 


	4. Everything's a Mess, But We're Thick and Thin

Kyle rested his head on the window beside him, watching snow laden pines and bundled up strangers hustle and bustle through snow covered sidewalks as Eric drove to… well, Kyle didn’t know, and for once, he didn’t care. The decision wasn’t his to make, and he wasn’t about to fight with his lifelong besties over skipping school. 

Stan hummed softly to whatever song Kenny had playing, taking Kyle by the hand. Normally, such an action wouldn’t make him blush, but that was before the one night Stan got shitfaced and they ended up making out. Everything Kyle never knew he wanted, and Stan didn’t remember a damned thing about it the next morning. Kyle kept it to himself, held it close to his chest, because sober Stan didn’t feel like that for him. 

One of the shittest things of crushing on your best friend, Kyle quickly learned, is you hear so much about their cruises, and Stan’s was… Cartman, of all people. And the thing that upset Kyle the most is he could see exactly where the ravenette was coming from. Cartman did a lot of changing for the better, and even Kyle was willing to take the behavior as an apology. And Cartman had always been objectively cute, even if he acted like a fucknugget as a child. 

And that was the primary source of his mother’s anger. Kyle told her he might be gay, and she flipped the hell out. She didn’t throw him out, but Kyle almost wished she would. It’d be easier to deal with the fact that everyone aside from Ike would hate him when the dust settled. (Yeah, he hadn’t told Stan. Hadn’t gotten the chance or the courage to wreck that friendship.) Everytime he thought about that, his gut twisted uncomfortably. The idea of his best friends turning on him made him sick and shaky and Kyle couldn;t dwell on this now.

He dug his nails into his wrist, catching a jagged cut from the other night. He bit his lip to contain a hiss of pain, but let the burn settle his rapidly tilting world a bit. The pain cleared his mind and chased away the panic bubbling in his throat. 

“You okay?” Stan asked softly, just loud enough to be heard over the music, but soft enough to keep it between them.

“Yeah,” Kyle replied, putting his hand back into Stan’s. Kenny played “I Am Not A Robot” by Marnia, and Kyle let himself hum along, as Stan rested his head on Kyle’s shoulder, singing softly to it. 

“This song makes me think of you,” Stan confessed, then picked back up on the chorus, essentially serenading Kyle. It made his face uncomfortably warm and his palms sweaty. 

In an effort to distract himself, Kyle watched the rearview, meeting Kenny’s observant gaze. Suddenly the panic came back threefold, and it was all Kyle could do to stay visibly composed. Nothing ever slipped past the blonde and Kyle knew his secret was out and oh god… Kenny was going to hate him, thought he was a terrible person, their friendship was over-

Cartman parked at Denny’s. “Ey, fags, we’re here.” he told Stan and Kyle. Stan slid out of the backseat, following Cartman, who left his keys with Kenny. 

“We’ll meet you two inside! Get a booth!” Kenny called to their retreating forms, getting a thumbs up from Stan in acknowledgement. Then he slid into the backseat with Kyle and hugged him tightly. “Shh, breathe, Kye.” Kenny soothed, running a hand along his spine. 

Kyle glanced at Kenny. “But… once Stan and Cartman find out, it's over,” he wheezed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He gnawed on his lip, hoping Kenny would just get it the way he always seemed to.

“Kye, you do realize both of them know  _ I’m _ into dudes, too, right?” he asked rhetorically, still soothing a hand over Kyle’s shoulder blade. 

“No,” Kyle stuttered, reeling. “I mean, it makes sense, but..” words failed as Kyle let out an ugly sob, panic completely taking over. 

Kenny soothed him, talking him down in words that didn’t quite process to the younger teen. All he knew was that Kenny was warm, firm, and holding him together,  _ literally _ . A few moments passed, and the worst of the attack was over. His sleeves had rolled up, revealing the angry slashes on his wrists. 

Kenny frowned. “We’re gonna patch those up later,” he promised, then gently tugged Kyle’s sleeves down. “For now, we’re gonna enjoy pancakes with our best friends because they love us, no matter what.” he promised, pulling Kyle out of the car by his hands. They walked into Denny’s hand in hand, and Kenny didn’t let go until he grabbed the mug of cocoa one of the others ordered for him. 

“Guys,” Kenny announced to the table. “I’m gonna tell you something, and I need you to be lowkey about it, okay?” He waited until they both verbally confirmed, then looked to Kyle for permission. Kyle nodded, nursing his water. “Kyle’s gay. He freaked out pretty badly about telling you two, so don’t make it a big deal.”

Cartman nodded. “I think we all are, honestly,” he shrugged. “I mean, we’ve known each other since preschool. We don’t act like regular old best friends anymore.” he pointed out. “Like, when isn’t Stan touching one of us? How many lectures has Kye given us ending in, “I’m sorry, I just care way too much about you for my own good?” And Ken, we can’t shut you up at times anymore. We’re the only people who you talk for literal hours at and with.” He pointed out. “Not trying to be outright dismissive here, but Kye, I knew you were gay since seventh grade when Rebecca kissed you and you freaked the hell out.” 

Kyle blushed. “Ooops,” he chuckled nervously. “Sorry about all the lectures, guys,” 

The group burst into laughter, settling down as the waitress took their orders. Cartman got chocolate pancakes, Stan got blueberry, Kenny got strawberry, and Kyle got plain pancakes. 

“Am I really that bad about touch?” Stan asked with`a pout. The trio nodded. “My parents didn’t love me as a child,” he complained. “So I need you guys to do it for them,” More laughter followed, while Cartman hugged Stan tightly, kissing the top of his beanie. 

“Wait a second, Cartman didn’t call himself out!” Kenny pointed out through laughter. “We made you a better person!” he wheezed. 

The waitress distributed their food, then turned away. Soon their conversation was about regular ass bullshit for them, intermingled with “Here, try my food,” and them all offering one another forkfuls of food. Cartman and Stan ended up staring more with one another, and Kenny smiled knowingly.

“Jesus, just switch plates or kiss, dammit,” he joked, getting three weird looks in response. 

Stan spluttered, and Cartman’s jaw dropped. “Fuck you!” they both replied, redder than Kyle’s hair. The table burst into laughter again, and the waitress brought them containers and styrofoam cups. 

“You guys are disturbing our other patrons. I’m really sorry, but my manager asked me to ask you to leave,” She informed them politely, a touch apologetic. The boys nodded, used to getting kicked out for them being loud. So they quietly did as asked, Stan paying the tab and Kyle giving her a tip.

“This happens a lot,” he told her. “We forget how loud we can be, sorry,” 

The quartet left in high spirits. Sure, everything was a fucked up mess, but they had one another for good. 


	5. Revelations

It was a shame they couldn’t skip the whole day. Well, Cartman and Kenny probably could, but Kyle had debate club and Stan had football practice. He was already dreading it a lot, and the bell for 7th period to end hadn’t gone off yet. 

Stan read over the coach's game plan in the texts and bit his lip. “Defense, really?” he muttered softly. There wasn’t a need to practice that, except for the fact that Coach had refused to let Craig and Clyde play their main defense. A shame, really, because those two were always on the same page, just like himself and Kyle. 

Stan set his phone down, trying to focus on his history worksheet. As luck would have it, he was the only one of the four of them in history alone, and history wasn’t one of Stan’s best subjects. Biting his lip to contain some choice expletives, Stan began scrawling answers on his page. He felt like the first two were wrong already, but maybe Kenny would take pity after school and help him fix the worksheet. 

Thinking of Kenny completely derailed his fragile attention span from who ever the fuck this assignment was about. Kyle’s comments from earlier in the morning made Stan really worried, even if he didn’t express that to the group. Kenny hated being fussed over, but Stan wasn’t sure if this was an issue that could afford to be glossed over. The bruises on his wrists, hiding in his parka again, barely speaking unless spoken to… those were all huge indicators that Kenny was pulling away from them again, and that it had something to do with his family. It’d taken literal years for the three of them to get Kenny out of his shell, and now he was retreating again. The thought of Kenny going back to being fragile and callous scared the hell out of Stan and made his chest physically ache. 

Stan bit his lip, replaying Kenny’s laughter from this morning in his head. He’d noticed the blonde’s infectious joy didn’t quite reach his eyes. In contrast, they’d seemed more grey and more fragile than they had in… awhile. Normally they were an enchanting cerulean shade and so vibrant one could almost read Kenny’s whole expression in  _ just _ those baby blues. He hadn’t seen the cloudy grey in ages, and the cloudiness was always a bad omen. 

**Me:** hey ken, are you okay?

**McDonald’s Whore:** normally i’d say yes, but if you’re asking, you’re concerned. 

**McDonald’s Whore:** no, i’m not, but it’d be easier to explain in person. catch ya after practice?

**Me:** of course, dude. see ya there. 

The text messages made Stan feel better, if only marginally. He could settle his worried thoughts about Kenny. then he plugged in his headphones and opened their shared spotify account. He tapped on Kyle’s playlist and shuffled it, then continued with his history worksheet.

The distraction of music made his thoughts drift to the redhead who made the playlist. The song playing his ears was Dead Inside, and he bobbed his head, thinking back to how the redhead acted earlier in the day. It was both a gift and a curse, knowing someone the way the two of them knew one another. 

He’d been acting nervous about something, drawing away from Stan internally. Whatever anxiety he had about telling the three of them really wasn’t about telling  _ them _ , and he knew that. Kyle had called him late last night after a rough fight with his mom, voice hoarse and soft from all the yelling and the late hour. It was one of his favorites of Kyle’s voices normally, but Kyle was unusually tight lipped about the fight and that concern eclipsed his love for Kyle’s softer edges. 

Kyle had always been a little abrasive. A lot of people couldn’t handle his blunt honesty and tendency to avoid sugar coating his remarks. Stan used to bristle at the truths too, but he’d never known Kyle to be mean intentionally, and that blunt honesty saved his sorry ass a lot. Kyle did have soft sides, though, and Stan was one of the few people entrusted with that knowledge. 

Stan’s own problem was being too nice at times, and the two spent a lot of years, tears, bloodied knuckles, and breakdowns finding a balance. Where one fell short, the other shined brightly. Stan had a hard time trying to set boundaries, and Kyle helped him draw lines and defend them. Kyle helped him tap into the anger, frustration, misery, and heartbreak he locked inside his chest and construct it into a shield. 

Kyle’s secretive nature threatened that careful balance: for once, Stan genuinely had no idea how to navigate their situation. It was, for lack of better words (Kyle was the wordy one), frustrating. It was the redhead’s nature to tackle challenges alone, but he always asked Stan for help with emotional issues. It wasn’t like Kyle to hold back his fears in a situation like this. 

Or maybe, it was. He’d never seen it before, but that actually lined up with how Kyle tried to present himself. Rational, level headed, and poised. The panic attack Stan had witnessed earlier had cemented that. Even in the face of abject terror, Kyle tried to act like everything was fine. Tried to stiffen his shoulders and smile like the world wasn’t crashing at his feet. If telling his best friends, his lifelong partners in mayhem and misery, wasn’t what broke him, what was breaking him? 

The realization hit Stan so hard he audibly gasped, drawing in a startled, painful, and entirely empathetic breath. Kyle was afraid of his mother. 

the bell rang and Stan hurriedly gathered his things, music still blaring in his ears. The walk to his locker was quick and uneventful, thankfully. Stan’s head was spinning hard enough as it was. Then Cartman, surprisingly silent for his bulky frame, pulled Stan’s locker open and startled the ravenette so badly he took a step back, fumbling his textbook, notebook, and folders. Even over the pounding bass of whatever song was blaring, he could still hear Cartman’s bubbling laughter. With a mildly annoyed frown, Stan popped out an earbud and packed up his stuff. 

“You should have seen your face!” Cartman wheezed, then sobered a bit at the annoyed frown. “Sorry, man. You were thinking so hard, your ears were steaming. What’s eating Stanley Snickerdoodle?”

Stan rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his own brain. Almost. “I hate your movie references so much,” he griped, then bit his lip. “I think Ky’s freak out earlier didn’t have anything to do with us, really. I think it was about his mom.” he announced softly,watching the gears click in Cartman’s brain. 

“Why would he flip over his mom? that’s new, even for the Jew,” Carman voiced, echoing Stan’s soft tone. 

“That’s what I’m wondering, too,” Stan replied, grabbing his duffle bag and locking his locker. Cartman fell into step with him, lips pursed in thought. He dropped the expression when Kenny and Kyle fell into the formation with them. 

“Are you seriously listening to Died A Jew?” Kyle remarked with a slight scoff that blended into an amused noise. 

“Yeah. I needed music in history and your playlist was the one I clicked on first.” Stan defended weakly. Kyle smiled, the corners of his mouth dimpling pleasantly. 

“Right. I think you missed me,” Kyle teased, an elbow catching Stan in the ribs softly. He let out a quiet grunt, giving Kyle a gentle shove. 

“Yep, I missed you so damned much,” Stan joked. “Go to debate club, loser,” he chided lightly, gently shoving Kyle towards the band room. Kyle turned to the trio and waved, blowing all of them exaggerated kisses before disappearing behind the heavy oak door. 

Autumn's chilled breeze brushed over the trio as they stepped out of the doors to the student parking lot. The trio split ways at the lemon yellow bug, affectionately referred to as Hazard by Cartman. He watched as the two best friends climbed into the driver and passenger seats respectively, then opened his door and tossed his backpack gently into the back seat of the shitbox. He left the truck unlocked, jogging over to the football field. 

Holy fuck, this was going to be a brutal practice. With a sigh and a shoulder roll, Stan resigned himself to two hours of hell. 


	6. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features Kenny opening up about what happened. There's no explicit details, but just to be safe, I'll mark the triggering bits in bold. If this chapter is still too much for someone, I will add a brief summary in the beginning notes section.   
> Please be careful reading this chapter. I've tried to portray Kenny's trauma as accurately yet as delicately as possible, but it's possible that it could be triggering to someone.

Kenny took a deep breath, flooding his senses with the familiar smell of cherry air freshener, cologne, and something uniquely Eric. The familiarity helped bring Kenny back to himself, and he could almost pretend that last night never happened. Almost. 

**The sickly sweet smell of meth clung to his clothes and his hair, and every time he blinked, flashes of hands, too many hands, reached for him. Tugging, pulling, demanding and relentless. Too many voices, low rumbles and filthy words rang in his ears making his ears ring. No amount of outside noises drove away the memory of the voices. Outsider’s touches felt like vice grips, and it was all he could do to not jerk away, to protect himself from their burning, demanding contact, biting and clawing at his delicate sanity.**

He actually did flinch when a hand pressed against his spine, bristling at the sensation until he realised that the hand was Eric’s. That Eric was moving his hand in slow, soothing circles between his shoulder blades. And the look on his face was painful, angry concern. Kenny swallowed hard, mismatched umber and sapphire meeting cloudy cerulean. 

“Kenny, stay with me, dude,” Eric muttered soothingly, taking one of Kenny’s hands in his own, and the contact felt like it was happening to someone else. It was whole lifetimes away from him. “Ken, hey, come back to me. Ground control to Major Ken,” 

A few deep, shuddery breaths left his lips before he could speak again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, bracing for something. Harsh words or angry hands, something, anything. 

“Hey, don’t be, dude.” Eric murmured, tone soft and soothing. “You had one of the worst nights of your life last night. It’s okay to flip about it. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Eric leaned over the center console, grabbing something from the back seat. 

He dropped it gently into Kenny’s lap, and it tiik Kenny’s brain a moment to realize it was a bundle of fabric; Stan’s hoodie. Kenny carefully unfolded the black fabric, revealing the design. Three white gas masks with the words The Bastards written over the top in red ink. He traced over the Palaye Royale and the circles above the gas masks, soothing his fraying nerves a bit. Then he hugged it to his chest, trying to avoid wrinkling the fabric too much. It was worth more than just about any piece of clothing Kenny had ever owned in his life, but he knew Stan wouldn’t mind him clinging to it. The rich, skunky smell of weed mingled with Stan’s cologne and something spicy and fall like, and Kenny let the familiar smell reorient him. 

“Feel better?” Eric asked him softly. Kenny nodded, curing his fingers into the soft fabric. “Figured you would. Honestly, I thought it was Kyle’s. Am I right?”

“No. It’s Stan’s. It’s an XL. Kyle wears mediums,” Kenny commented. “Besides that, it smells like weed. Kyle doesn’t smoke often enough to have a hoodie that reeks like this,” a light laugh snuck out. 

“What’s the design about?” Eric wondered. He listened to rap and pop mostly, the rest of them listened to rock more often than not. Made sense that the design made no sense to him. Kenny also saw the question for what it really was. A distraction from his own brain. 

“There’s this band we listen to a lot called Palaye Royale,” Kenny explained, laying the hoodie flat on his lap. “They have an album called “The Bastards”, and it's largely centered around the themes of being an angry outcast on the fringe of society. It’s also cinematic, in a way,” He traced the gas masks. “In the music videos from this era, the band members wear gas masks, because a company called Liesel Inc is trying to poison them, pull them away from their art,” 

Eric nodded along. “That’s actually a pretty badass design.” he commented. “Wonder how Stan would feel if we speculated about this in front of him?” he joked. 

“Stan could tell you more than I can. Palaye’s one of his favorite bands. I think they’re coming to Denver soon, and their tickets are relatively cheap.” Kenny replied softly. “Gonna see if I can save enough to snag a few for us. It’d make Stan’s whole life,” 

“Us as in the two of you or-” Eric began, cut off by a look from Kenny.

“Us includes you and Kyle too. I’m not gonna make Stan pick between the three of us, dumbass.” Kenny’s tone was jokingly scathing, and Eric smiled, knowing it was a joke with no real malice. 

“Dude, how much are the tickets. Maybe we could talk Ky into throwing in and call it a group present?” Eric pondered. 

“Twenty dollars each.” Kenny replied. “I can make that, and enough for merch from side hustles alone.” Kenny reasoned. 

Eric nodded. “I still say we tell Kyle. Not what band, but the general plan,” He petitioned. 

Kenny nodded, tuning out Eric's excited chatter. **His brain drifted back to last night and the horrible hands and unfamiliar voices and their demands until music cut through his thoughts.** Eric had turned on the car, playing Forest softly enough that they could hear one another, but loudly enough that it could be heard. Kenny found himself humming along to the music. The duo spent the rest of the two hour practice listening to music, the only noises coming from the duo softly singing and humming along. Kenny wasn’t in the mood to talk, nor was he wanting to sit in silence, so he greatly appreciated Eric turning on the music. 

Kenny met Stan over by the gate to the field. He watched as the ravenette chatted with his team mates, then made a beeline for Kenny as soon as he caught sight of him. 

“Is that my hoodie?” Stan asked, gesturing to the bundle of fabric draped over Kenny’s crossed arms. 

“Yeah. you left it in Eric’s car,” he replied, offering it to Stan. Stan shook his head and gently pushed it back towards Kenny. 

“You hold onto that until we get to my truck. Kyle texted me that Carman took him home,” He replied, walking Kenny back to the shitbox with a gentle hand on his lower spine. Kenny subconsciously drew closer to Stan’s side, though whether he was cold or needed the comfort of Stan’s presence was anyone’s guess. 

**Kenny waited until the school was a speck in the rearview to speak up. “So last night,” he began quietly, pausing to take a steeling breath. “I came home and Dad was high on meth. He got a front and I didn’t have cash to bail him out-” tears burned in the corners of his eyes, and Kenny paused again to compose himself. “So his friends figured fucking me would be a good enough trade off for being stiffed on money,” the words made kenny’s stomach churn uncomfortably, panic rising in his throat. “They had their way with me, and that sick bastard watched.” He swiped a tear away, trying to force deep breaths.**

Stan’s grip tightened on the wheel, jaw feathering in irritation. “Your dad did what now?” his voice was calm, but it was a cold sort of calm. If Kenny hadn’t know Stan for years, he’d have never guessed Stan was planning a murder internally at the moment. “I heard you, no need to repeat yourself, angel,” his tone softened considerably when their eyes met for a split second. “I just-” the cold calm was back. “That’s so fucked up. Are you alright?” then Stan clicked his tongue at his own stupidity. “Sorry, that was a dumb question. How can I help?” 

“I really don’t know,” Kenny confessed, voice cracking with tears. He was ashamed that he was crying. Their words, saccharine and awful, whispered in his ears, and it was all he could do to focus on Stan’s voice beside him. 

“Can I touch you?” Stan asked softly, parking the truck in his own driveway. Kenny nodded, allowing him. “Are you sure? You can say no, Ken.” Stan assured him, and Kenny nodded again, practically crawling over the console to cling to Stan. “Shh, Ken, it’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.” he whispered into Kenny’s hair. “They will never touch you again, I swear on my life,” 

An ugly sob crawled its way up Kenny’s throat, muffled by the solid warmth of Stan’s chest. Stan whispered more words of comfort to him, tangling his fingers in Kenny’s hair. “Hey, angel, you’re safe now. You’re safe here.” Stan murmured, easily hauling Kenny out of the truck and carrying him like he weighed nothing. “So here’s the plan, angel,” Stan spoke softly, voice authoritative and calm. “I’m gonna take you to my room, find you some of Ky’s clothes, and then you’re gonna go take a bath. You’ll feel better when you aren’t wearing those clothes.” 

Kenny could only hazard a guess of what Stan was actually doing, but trusted him completely to do exactly what he said he was going to do. It was reassuring to feel Stan’s mattress dip under their combined weight, and he let Stan ragdoll him around until Kenny was curled in his lap, face pressed against the side of his neck. “Change in plans. Kyle and Carman are on their way now. They’re bringing food. You probably haven’t eaten today, have you?” Kenny shook his head no. “Okay. So you’re gonna eat, then you can shower. We’ll have you feeling like a person again in no time, angel. In the meantime, just let it out. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” 

It was times like these Kenny was so grateful to them. They dealt with so much of Kenny’s bullshit and trauma, and they never once turned away. All three of them contributed somehow, every single time. Sure, this was maybe the fourth time in nearly two decades Kenny had been this vulnerable around them, but right now, he wasn’t able to put on the brave face. They didn’t let that phase them, ever. 

Especially not Stan. When Kenny started reeling, standing too close to the edge of the precipice inside his head, Stan was always the first to pull him back. To center him. To rock him like a baby and assure him that everything was going to be okay until Kenny had no choice but to believe him. To squeeze him just tight enough that all the shards smushed back together without cutting anyone. 

Kyle always did the less emotionally charged tasks. Always in motion, always a blur of autumnal colors on the edge of Kenny’s tear clouded vision. Sympathetic to the breakdown, but not nearly empathetic enough to do what Stan did. Kyle brought the water, the blankets, the clothes, the first aid kits, and never stopped moving. Never stayed in one spot, always flitting about like if he stopped he’d crack too. Kenny was more than used to it, and it was reassuring to see one of them mostly functional and normal. Kyle was their level head, their calm in Kenny’s personal crisis. And he always expressed feeling bad for not being more help, but Kenny could never find the proper words to assure him that his calm composure and flitting about was plenty. 

Eric always ended up doing the nitty gritty things. Administering first aid. Forcibly stripping Ken when panic eclipsed him so intensely he couldn’t make his body corporate. Washing his hair. Force feeding him when all he wanted was to wither away. Just mean enough to drag Kenny back to himself, forcing him to fight back when all Kenny wanted was to stop fighting at all. Eric was their soldier, their asshole in sarcastic armor. Sure, it seemed counter productive to kick one’s best friend at their lowest, but it was normally a well placed metaphorical kick to the ass that made Kenny want to take action. To snarl and fight. It was an oddly effective method of getting Kenny out of his head and back to reality. Eric knew the boundaries, and never dared crossing them. 

“Hey, dickhead. Eat the goddamned nugget already,” Eric commanded, snapping Kenny out of his mental pacing. Before he could offer any half hearted remarks, Eric shoved a piece of a nugget in his mouth and clapped a hand over it. “Now chew. Great,” Eric’s tone shifted from demanding to praising. 

“Be nice to him, Eric.” Kyle halfheartedly chided, setting some of his clothes on the bed beside them. 

“Shut up, Jew, It worked, didn’t it?” Eric replied, then placed the other half in Kenny’s shaking hand. “You just have a spiritual bonding moment with that nugget, okay?” 

The comment drew a snort out of Stan, momentarily pausing the ravenette’s soothing words and light kisses to the top of his head. “Become one with the nugget, Kenny,” he encouraged. 

Kenny giggled, wet and snotty. “I’m about as useful as it,” he tried to joke, cracking with more negative emotions. 

“Goddammit, Ken,” Eric sighed, exasperated. He took the nugget and shoved it in Kenny’s mouth. “If you were a food, you’d be my mama’s pineapple pound cake. Delicious, complex, and worth treasuring.” 

Somewhere behind him, Kyle sighed. “Focus, you useless slut,” he barked at Eric, but the comment had no actual bite. 

“I see pretty boys crying and I become useless gay sludge.” Eric replied, making Kenny snort. Eric wordlessly passed him a tissue and he blew his nose. “It’s true, Kenny,” he whined. “You make ugly crying look hot,” 

“No I don’t,” Kenny argued, He went to elaborate, silenced by a straw pressed against his lips. Without further prompting, Kenny took a small sip, shivering as the cold water made contact with his tongue. 

“Ey, Jew, I’m gonna eat your fries if you don’t join us for the most depressing gay family dinner.” Eric warned, offering Kenny a french fry. Kenny just held it until Eric physically moved his hand to his mouth. “It tastes better if you eat it, babe,” 

Kyle walked over and took a few, eating them as he set about straightening Stan’s bookshelf. “Happy, fatass?” he inquired, a fry hanging out of his mouth. “You’re meant to worry about Kenny, not stare at my glorious ass.”

“In all fairness, you’re the one prancing about like a frantic mother worried about impressing the in laws,” Stan commented. “Not our fault God made you a bubble butt bottom boy,” 

“Stanley Quentin!” Kyle snapped. “Keep your eyes above ass level or so help me God we will throw down outside.”

Stan laughed, slightly jostling Kenny with his soft, wheezy noises. “Oh no! The power bottom is threatening me! Someone call the horny police!” He joked. 

Kyle sighed. “You’re both useless,” he griped, but his relieved smile belied his exasperated tone when he caught sight of Kenny’s tiny smile. He muttered something in Hebrew, then continued flitting about the room, working on putting Stan’s clean clothes away. 

When the others were satisfied with him finishing his nuggets, Kyle went to draw a bath for him. Eric forcibly removed his parka, prompting Kenny to shed his hoodie. He wrestled Kenny’s worn hiking boots off with Stan’s assistance, then they waited for Kyle to return. “Bring me his clothes when he’s in the tub,” Kyle requested, adding the parka and hoodie to Stan’s dirty laundry basket. 

Eric half drug, half forced Kenny into the bathroom, peeling off his shirt and jeans. **“Considering why you’re freaking out, I’m not touching your boxers,” he commented.** “It’s up to you, but I will throw your ass in that tub with them on if you don’t make up your mind in the next 15 seconds.” Eric respectfully turned his back, allowing Kenny to get undressed and sink into the bathwater. “Okay, I’ll be back in a second, Ky wants to wash these for you,” he announced, and then Kenny was alone for a second.

Fully back from the terrifying precipice in his mind, Kenny allowed himself to marvel at how wonderful his friends were, humming contentedly when Eric started scrubbing his hair for him. “Feelin’ better?” he asked softly. Kenny nodded, tilting his head back so Eric could rinse the suds out of his hair. “Good to hear,” he replied, working on washing Kenny’s back. “God, it’s incredible just how much better you look already. I think the smell was a part of the trigger,” he mused. 

Kenny hummed in reply, taking the loofa from Eric and starting to scrub himself down. “Enjoying the show?” Kenny teased, a soft smile coming easier to him than earlier. 

“Nope. Making sure you don’t have any infected cuts or particularly bad injuries.” Eric replied. “And wondering just when we got to the point that we’re both completely comfortable with you being completely naked right now.” 

“Honestly, it’s just anatomy.” Kenny commented, “Bodies are fuckin weird, dude.” 

Eric snorted. “Yours especially. I can literally see every vertebrae in your spine,” Eric remarked. “Where the hell does the hulk strength come from? You’re so skinny.” 

Kenny snickered and flexed. Years of doing odd labor and learning how to fight properly had actually given him quite a lot of muscle, even if he’d always have his mother’s thin, delicate looking build. “It’s a family thing. Mom’s whole family looks a lot like me. And just about everyone who’s seen my mom’s brother remarks how much I look like him. People who just know my mom think I’m a spitting image of her, but blonde.” he commented softly. “A lot of strangers mistake me for a girl at first glance,” 

Eric snickered. “I think you enjoy the confusion,” he remarked. “But I see it. You have a rather feminine face, no offense,” 

Kenny smirked. “None taken at all. Just don’t be an asshole if I show up rocking some killer makeup,” he joked, knowing full well Eric would never. A lot of people didn’t know that Eric was the first person Butters came out to, or how much Eric had helped her find things to ease her dysphoria. He’d asked Kenny for help, and Kenny had been delighted to oblige. He himself had a rather distorted sense of gender identity, but Kenny chalked up his own experience to how many times he’d died and came back. He barely felt like a person sometimes, much less a very masculine or feminine one. 

“Can I go update the others, or would leaving you alone be a bad idea?” Eric asked softly. Kenny gently shooed him away, and Eric rose, the bathroom door clicking softly behind him. He decided to rinse off and get dressed, trekking back to Stan’s room. 

Everything was going to be okay,Kenny told himself. And at the moment, it was easy to believe, sharing a chocolate chip blizzard with Stan in the boy’s bed while the four of them talked shit and fucked around. 


End file.
